


Heroic Endeavor

by Nicolaruth27



Category: Berena - Fandom, Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Aphrodite - Freeform, Athena - Freeform, Elinor Lives, F/F, Greek Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolaruth27/pseuds/Nicolaruth27
Summary: Greek mythology AU with remixed canon. "So unlike the shining gold-blonde of the gods, the woman has hair the color of deep, rich chocolate. But it is her voice – like warm honey mixed with sin – that has ensnared her overseer.Athena welcomes it, would suffer it for an eternity."





	1. Chapter 1

She has never known silence.

Her mind swirls with voices, as it has for millennia, a constant white noise of whispers and murmurs; the prayers of mortals.

Help me, they plead. Help _me_. How tiresome.

It has been a long time since she’s felt any desire to meddle in the petty squabbles of man. Generals, presidents, kings, they are all the same. Pathetic little creatures who start wars for unjust causes.

Her intervention never took much effort. Barely a twitch of her golden eyebrow and a lightning bolt of inspiration could strike the mind of someone capable, help change the course of civilization, point the silly men towards peace.

And if she wanted to have some fun, well, there had been nothing quite like fighting in person when she was young and out to prove herself worthy of her patronage. Once upon a time she had relished the sweat and blood and metal on metal of battle, left her mark only as a warrior of myth and legend, a shadow that would lift when she ascended, returning to her throne as Athena; goddess of war and heroic endeavor.

Now very much an elder, many things have changed. She is calmer of temperament, wise beyond her years in the heavens, and has grown weary of mans’ problems. Grown tired of the way they beg, of the patterns that repeat themselves, of their demands for weapons, wealth, or the death of an enemy.

With a little effort she can tune them out, ignore the endless cries of selfishness and greed.

But there is one voice lately that she cannot block.

It is a woman.

Serena.

And she listens.

Not because the woman isn’t the most captivating creature she’s ever laid eyes on in her time spent watching the motions of man from above, _she is_. And not because the woman’s voice doesn’t cause a shiver as it warms her soul, _it does_.

It is because Serena has never once prayed for herself.

\---

Serena has begged for life, not death.

Life for her father, decades ago. For a few more weeks, days, hours as a girl much too young to be bereaved.

Life for her mother, more recently. For an end to the frightened tears that run down a confused and age-wrinkled face.

Life for her patients, almost every day, and for her colleagues, too. For those who might – _should_ \- do so much good in the world, who might - _could_ \- heal others and save lives despite their limited years, but who struggle with the personal fight against a traitorous foe called cancer instead.

She’s wished for strength in others, rather than weakness, as they fought their battles, to be successful in their recovery, to defeat illness or injury, to beat that final exam, or to just be brave.

And she’s wished for their happiness, too. Several times she has offered herself in exchange, bargaining late at night and with a full bottle of wine in her belly, but to no avail.

Even deep in depression Serena had made no demands. Just gone quiet for a time, removed her familiar, comforting low tones from Athena’s ear.

The goddess had helped where she could; an idea here, a little push there. Hints and suggestions her only influence. Interference that left no fingerprints.

For decades, Serena has called it ‘intuition.’ With the sole exception of an attempted reconciliation with Edward, it had never steered her wrong.

But love, well, that was never Athena’s area.

With barely a squint and a flick of a finger, she can provide the extra energy needed to complete a long, grueling surgery, bolstering Serena’s resolve like an iron rod in the weary surgeon’s spine. And though sometimes she wishes her involvement required more direct contact with this woman, she does what she can from high above the clouds.

Overseeing the mortal’s latest battle, she bows her head and sighs hard. Zeus help her, she is smitten.

With Serena Campbell of all people.

So unlike the shining gold-blonde of the gods, the woman has hair the color of deep, rich chocolate. But it is her voice – like warm honey mixed with sin – that has ensnared her overseer.

Athena welcomes it, would suffer it for an eternity.

\---

Two months shy of her fifty-second birthday, Serena goes quiet again.

Athena feels the darkness of her depression like Apollo himself has extinguished the sun.

She struggles to locate Serena far beneath the clouds, cannot find her light, or feel her move. Day after day, to the detriment of all else, she focuses only on Serena. Wishes she could hear her voice, or that she knew what to do.

Then finally, she hears a whisper.

_“God help me.”_

She finds Serena at her desk, lit only by lamplight in the late hour. Head bowed to her clasped hands, elbows firmly planted. Serena’s face is hidden in shadow, but she can feel the wetness on Serena’s cheeks as sure as if they were falling on her own. Serena’s sobs are a trident to her heart. She’s never felt this connected, this affected by a single mortal before.

_“I can’t do this anymore,”_ Serena says, inhales deeply through her nose, sniffing back more tears as she wipes at her eyes.

A cloud of blackness hangs over her and Athena can hear the pain of a life suddenly falling apart.

_“I wish I knew what to do.”_

Athena starts as someone gently clasps her shoulder, draws her watery gaze up from the clouds.

“Go to her,” Aphrodite purrs.

“But I -”

“ _Go._ You can fight by her side.”

Athena refuses with a headshake, swishing golden waves about her face. “Whatever it is, I can help her from here. I always have.”

“You _can_ , but you don’t _want_ to,” Aphrodite says, grasping and turning her by the shoulders until they’re face to face. “You forget, sister. I can _see_ the love that grows within you.”


	2. Chapter 2

It is during a thunderstorm that she crashes to earth in the desert. The sand beneath her explodes upward as the lightning that carried her dissipates with an audible crack.

At the same time, an explosion overturns a nearby convoy of Humvees and her vision goes black.

\---

Even in human form, she is the embodiment of war. Of course she is. Her broken body draped in tattered and blood smeared fatigues, the very essence of war’s consequences. The gods do have a sense of humor after all.

And though she is shipped closer to Serena, her first fight does not involve the woman herself and she curses Aphrodite. It is just like her sister to tease her heart, make her work for it. But learning to walk again and hold her head high on reconstructed bones will not deter her from her mission.

She will help Serena, or she will die as a mortal for her efforts.

\---

“Bernie Wolfe, Trauma Surgeon,” she says with a smile, shaking the brunette’s hand. Such ease to her words she could have been saying them for eons.

Serena’s gaze is warm and welcoming, despite the turmoil she knows bubbles inside, and her touch seems to light Bernie’s hand on fire.

“Glad to have you with us, Major.”

And with that, she’s part of the team, the newest member of the AAU family, as she herself wished it to be; Serena’s worldly protector. Not full mortal, but close enough to hide among them.

What she doesn’t anticipate is the peace ending almost immediately, stunned to find Serena fights her at every turn.

\---

They squabble about NHS bureaucracy, disagree about patient care, and argue about paperwork. It’s a wonder they actually manage to secure some desperately needed ward funding that, due to repeated threats of budget cuts, had put Serena’s stress levels through the roof.

They battle against death in that most sterile of arenas, saving life after life in theatre as they war with each other, dark gazes burning above their matching facemasks.

“But I – I would class it as a trauma injury.”

“It’s a vascular injury and I’m a vascular surgeon. Now, step aside please.”

And that’s apart from Serena’s personal problems. The lying ex-husband who almost ruined her career; the rebellious daughter with hidden debts so deep Serena almost lost her home; the former CEO who betrayed her trust and used poor Serena as a scapegoat.

Bernie soon learns to pick her battles wisely there, but even her limited interference isn’t helping and she doesn’t know why.

It’s as if the closer she gets, the closer _they_ get to each other, the more battles arise with Serena.

When Robbie reappears, Bernie takes a step back to observe. But it’s not long before Serena’s fighting with him, too, over the sister she never knew existed, and then breaking up with him over the nephew she’s just discovered.

“You did the right thing,” she murmurs, trying to offer some solace, handing Serena a coffee.

But the woman just snips, “Mind your own business,” and keeps her eyes turned away.

When Elinor shows up and announces she’s ditched her degree course, again, and - as if one emotional bombshell isn’t enough – that Edward is suddenly remarrying, she doesn’t say a word to Serena. Just buries herself in doing as much work as possible, lightening the burden, while everyone, no matter their rank, gets treated to a dose of Serena’s venom.

“You could go a little easier on them,” she tries gently.

“And you’d do well to remember who you’re talking to,” Serena bites back before storming away.

The fleeting mental image of Serena as Medusa causes a fist-hidden snicker. Oh, Bernie does so love the fight in this woman. But, she sobers quickly, dark eyes lingering in the brunette’s wake long after she’s gone, because she does so hate to fight with this woman.

\---

Bernie plants a seed – a mortal suggestion rather than a godly manipulation - and Serena resigns as Deputy CEO not long after. It’s not much, but it prevents the total burn out she can see coming from a mile away. For as much as Serena wants to run the entire hospital _and_ save every soul in it, she seems instantly brighter for having picked just one cause to focus on.

It’s the first thing that’s worked, as far as Bernie can tell, and she’s a little stunned. She tries not to blink when Serena holds her gaze and says thank you. Tries to ignore the thrum of golden energy that lights up the inside of her chest. Wonders if she hasn’t had her strategy wrong this entire time. That maybe what Serena needs isn’t someone to stand in front of her and take the flak, but someone to stand behind her and hold her steady when she falters.

The delicate truce is short-lived, however, because Bernie soon forgets herself and offers advice about Jason.

“I think - Maybe you don’t know his limitations.”

_“I_ think you don’t have a bloody clue!”

She feels like even waving a white flag at this point would be futile. Every attempt to be a friend spectacularly backfires.

With her gut screaming at her to cut her losses and leave, she spends her break on the bench outside and sighs with every exhale as she stares up at the sky.

The cloud formations shift to reveal the smirking face of Aphrodite. Just a trick of the light to mortal eyes, just wisps and shadows, but she sees all. Hears the message loud and clear.

“ _I never said it would be easy, sister.”_

With a groan, Bernie buries her fists in the pockets of her hoodie and trudges back inside.

“Oh, do shut up, _sister_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shout out to Ames for being supportive of this idea. It only exists because of her encouragement. So, thank you, I think! Lol. I hope it continues to excite you. FYI, my greek mythology knowledge is sketchy at best and any details garnered from a little research are used with a lot of creative license!


	3. Chapter 3

She’s never known anyone like Bernie Wolfe.

She’d heard the rumors, of course, the legend of Darwin. Fastest recovery on record, apparently, though she’d never put much stock in gossip. Attributed it simply to the inflated egos of Jac Naylor’s team, which was nothing if not to be expected.

What she hadn’t expected was a woman that could be her equal. And, irrational as it may be, she feels… _usurped_ somehow.

Annoyingly, Bernie is everything Hanssen had said she would be; knowledgeable, infinitely skilled, mature, and direct.

She also has a knack for setting Serena’s every nerve ending alight. The woman is messy, outspoken, prone to meddling, frequently insubordinate, and devastatingly attractive. _God damn it_!

“Everything okay?” Bernie enquires from her side of the desk. Her face is a picture of delicate concern and her blonde locks glow like a halo in the afternoon sun that streams in through the window.

“What? Oh yes, yes,” she says, somewhat distracted. Wonders how Bernie always manages to know when she’s struggling. She shakes the thought from her head and glances away. Frowning, she rubs fingers over the aching crease between her eyebrows, points the pen she’s holding toward the desk.

“Just editing this report,” she lies. Rewriting from scratch would be more accurate, but even Bernie’s velvet voice isn’t enough to make her admit it.

“Do you need some help?”

“No, no,” she says, refusing on instinct, the words out of her mouth without much thought. It’s still _her_ ward after all. The report will show her name alone, even if she has to spend the entire evening working on it at home.

“Thank you, though,” she adds, offering a tired smile.

The gold specks that glint in Bernie’s eyes must just be a trick of the light, she thinks, as the woman smiles easily in return.

“Any time.”

\---

She’s let too much pile on top of her again. Just like the months prior to Bernie’s arrival. Some of it isn’t her fault, though she’s fought valiantly regardless.

It’s an unfortunate situation. Embarrassing enough without having to swallow her pride, too, but she does it because she needs help. She can admit that now. There’s just too much work to be done, too many people to save to be endlessly preoccupied with mind-numbing reports and arrogant men in bad suits.

The realization hits her hard when it comes, almost knocks the wind out of her as she thinks about the deep brown eyes that have done nothing but try to look out for her since they arrived.

Her distrust and suspicions vanish in an instant. There one minute, and then gone the next… just like her bloody car. And she knows now, she _can_ play nice and share her ward with Bernie, halve her burdens and still be in charge.

And she feels silly, because if she’s honest with herself, she’d prayed for this. Not literally, of course, not by wailing to some non-existent sky fairy, but in some form or another she’d thought it. In quiet moments, late at night, buried in paperwork, she had genuinely wanted someone, anyone, to swoop in and give her a break.

A human disaster with disheveled hair and skinny jeans is not what she’d imagined. Something about it feels right though, oddly comfortable, and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

This feeling is miles away from the irritation that used to fester, the resentment that someone else was overseeing her territory while she’d been banished. All of that is gone, evaporated, and she sighs, because they could have been friends so much sooner if only she hadn’t been so stubborn.

“I may be no action woman, but I’d be happy to have your back,” she says, meaning every word.

“I’d like that,” Bernie purrs. “We are equals after all.” A smirk, somehow both teasing and utterly charming, makes Serena chuckle.

Friends, she grins. They are friends now.

\---

They work well together, she finds. And when Bernie suggests Serena might have to let something _go_ in order to get what she really wants - a backward idea if ever there was one - she has to admit that the woman was right.

“You just have to do what’s right for you,” Bernie had said. And though the words were slow to sink in at the time, she now understands the true value of self-care.

Even the memory of Bernie’s comforting low tones makes her feel warm. She has never been happier.

Though it turns out the bickering never really ends. That wherever Bernie is, some battle or other is sure to follow. Serena doesn’t welcome it necessarily, but she also doesn’t cower. She feels emboldened, despite never having shied away from hard work, because she has someone to rely on now, someone who will fight her corner with her, _for_ her.

And not just _her_ , she finds out, when Bernie goes behind her back to get a job for Jason.

“I asked you not to do that!” she seethes, staring daggers at the blonde.

“I didn’t,” Bernie shrugs, infuriating Serena even more by leaning casually back against the doorframe, arms folded and a smile tugging at her lips as Jason waves an application form in her face.

“I picked it up from HR myself,” he says, smug one second, ecstatic the next. “I’m going to be the best porter at Holby City.”

“Well… yes…” she says, carefully weighing her words. Looking from him to Bernie’s proud gaze and back again, she manages a smile. “Of course you will, Jason.”

And of course he is.

She can’t even be mad when he’s injured on the job.

“Oh my god, Jason!”

“It’s all my fault, Auntie Serena,” he says sadly as Bernie gets him to lie back on the bed. “I should have been paying more attention.”

“What happened?”

“Knocked down by a gurney,” Bernie explains, handing Serena an x-ray. “Don’t worry, it’s not broken, and we’ll have him fixed in a jiffy.”

Without any fuss, Jason’s shoulder is popped back into place, and Bernie runs her hands over him to check its placement.

There’s a tenderness to her movements that Serena has rarely witnessed. And for a split second, she wonders what those hands might feel like on her own skin.

Bernie meets her eye momentarily but shyly looks away. She puts the pang in her chest down to gratitude, thankful that someone was here to care for her nephew in her absence.

The woman always did have a knack for showing up when help was needed. She knows she’ll be fine for as long as Bernie is by her side. And after that, well – another pang.

“Oh dear,” she mutters to no one but herself.

To be without Bernie is unthinkable.


	4. Chapter 4

Sitting at the nurses’ station, Serena smiles as Bernie rushes by.

There’s a definite glow about the blonde recently. Must be to do with having found her niche, she decides, with the trauma unit finally up and running.

She still receives a shy look every now and then, usually when she’s been caught staring, but they’ve only grown more comfortable with each other over recent months.

It’s nice to have reclaimed a social life, too, to have someone to socialize with, and she relishes their time together. Enjoys it any time they share a meal, or a laugh, or even a quick break up on the roof, though she tries not to dwell on the not-so-shy looks they share over a bottle of wine. It’s absolutely _not_ what she thinks it is. Doesn’t see how it could be.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts, and she has to drag her eyes away from long legs in navy scrubs.

A nervous young man, obviously a patient, looms over her.

“You work closely with Major Wolfe?” he asks, cautious eyes roaming the ward.

“Sometimes…” she hedges with a frown.

“You haven’t seen anything odd, have you? Seen her acting strangely, or – or -”

Her frown deepens. “Sorry?”

“The gold in her eyes, the – the light, do you see it -”

“Come on you,” Fletch says as he appears at the man’s side. He grabs the IV stand and firmly ushers the patient away. “Back into bed please, Mr. Fielding, before you do yourself some damage.”

“Something’s going on here and she’s hiding it,” she hears him shout as Lou helps Fletch put him back into bed.

When Fletch returns, she juts her chin toward the man who now looks to be writing something in a notebook. “What’s the story there?”

“Not sure,” he says, sounding a bit perplexed. “A&E sent him in with minor cuts and bruises, no head trauma, but I think he might need a psych consult.” He plops down in the chair beside her and leans in. “What did he want with you anyway?”

“He was asking some rather odd questions. Seems to have a bit of a Bernie obsession going on.”

“ _What’s_ going on?” Bernie says, startling them both from behind.

Fletch jerks his head toward the occupied bed across the ward, “Your fan club president over there,”

“He seems very concerned about _you_ ,” Serena says, watching with interest as Bernie busies herself with a stack of files. She seems a little… something Serena can’t put her finger on. Wired maybe. Nervous.

As all three look up to regard the patient, they find him staring straight back at Bernie. Only a second passes before he’s scribbling wildly in his notebook again.

Bernie sucks in a sharp breath. “Just a conspiracy theorist, I suspect.”

Serena frowns hard again, confused. “You’ve spoken to him?”

“Um, briefly, when he was first brought in -”

“And?”

“He – um – he was asking about my background so I just mentioned the army, tried to put him a bit more at ease.”

“Should we be worried?” Serena asks, though if she’s honest she’s already quite concerned.

“He’s delusional, paranoid, agitated,” Fletch explains. “Maybe a psych consult would -”

But Bernie cuts him off.

“He’s harmless enough.” She flashes a smirk at Serena, eyes wide with humor. “Just has a _very_ vivid imagination.”

“Well, keep a close eye,” Serena warns, still suspicious. What was it he said, something about gold?

“Will do,” Bernie says lightly as she walks away.

But Serena isn’t convinced by her nonchalance. Something’s wrong here, she thinks. Call it intuition.

\---

“Erm… Ms. Campbell?” Fletch calls and she spins around immediately because she _knows_ that tone.

“What is it, Nurse Fletcher?” she asks with a sigh. But the man looks pale, and she follows his finger as he points down at Mr. Fielding’s empty bed.

The screwed up blanket is littered with pieces of paper that look to be pages torn from a notebook. “I _really_ think we need psych down here,” he grinds out and her eyes go wide at the display.

There are drawings on every page. A crazed mess of tangled lines scrawled in black and red biro. All of them terrifyingly clear in illustrating their subject.

With her heart hammering, Serena bends to pick up several pieces for closer inspection.

She sees Bernie with her eyes scratched out, the word LIAR for a mouth. Bernie with big black wings, tattered and torn and covering her in darkness. Bernie with red pouring out of her, so much red everywhere…

“Good god!” she gasps, tears forming.

“He’s been shouting crazy stuff all day, but this -” He lets out a puff of air, rubs a hand across the back of his neck.

“Where is he?” she asks, voice almost breaking as she lets the papers flutter from her grasp.

“Um - I dunno -”

“Find him,” she snips, already heading back toward the nurses’ station. “I’m calling security.”

“What about Bernie?” he calls after her, voice full of concern.

“Let _me_ worry about Ms. Wolfe,” she says, though she’s not sure what that even means in this moment.

She shouldn’t be surprised that Fletch seems to care for Bernie, too, that they’re all so familiar, but she is wholly unprepared for the fear upon his face.

As Fletch jogs away, she snatches up the phone. Focuses solely on locating Mr. Fielding, because something tells her Bernie will show up on her own soon enough.


	5. Chapter 5

With diminished powers, the hybrid offspring of gods and mortals were left on earth.

Thousands of generations later, a descendant’s powers should be diluted to almost nothing, though legend has it some can still recognize their own, often driven mad by visions when they happen across a true child of Zeus.

She’s only ever heard stories of descendants. Has never actually met one, not in all her visits to earth since she was first created.

Not until today.

\---

“Where did you come from?” the patient demands as the porter turns his bed and situates him into an empty bay.

“Sorry?” she says, eyebrows drawn together as she reviews his file.

“Where were you before Holby?”

“Oh, um, Royal Army Medical Corps,” she smiles kindly, her voice deliberately warm and soft as she slides the file into the pocket at the end of the bed and pumps antibacterial gel. “Don’t worry, Mr. Fielding, you’re in safe hands.”

With the gel rubbed in, she moves toward the head of the bed and leans over to check his wounds. But he flinches away and roughly grabs at her wrist.

“That’s not what I mean,” he snarls, dragging her close with a fierce grip, piercing eyes meeting her own.

What she sees staring back steals her breath. Mirrored in his eyes is her true self, golden and blinding in her flowing white tunic, as if she were back in the heavens and staring into the pool of reflection.

“Who _are_ you?” he growls, but she pulls from his grip and steps back.

“I’ll get someone to stitch up those cuts,” she says, doing her best to pretend nothing is amiss.

“I see you!” he yells, but she’s already walking away and she doesn’t look back.

She spends the rest of the day avoiding him, keeping a safe distance. Decides no one will take his ranting seriously, that he’ll blend in with the rest of the craziness they have to deal with on a daily basis.

She’ll just get someone else to treat him and suggest he be on his way as soon as possible.

Nothing to worry about.

\---

She’s already on her way back to the ward when she hears it - Serena’s silent call for help – and when she bursts through the double doors to AAU, she’d swear her trauma unit was being destroyed.

Following the noise, she finds Serena and Fletch, both with their palms out, trying to control a very volatile Mr. Fielding.

“Come on now, mate,” Fletch soothes, stepping forward whilst gesturing back to the ward. “That’s enough; let’s get you back into bed.”

“NO!” he screams, veins bulging at his temples. “I KEEP TRYING TO TELL YOU BUT YOU’RE NOT LISTENING!”

They both flinch as he tosses another supply cart across the room, breaking drawers and spraying sharp tools all over the floor in the resulting crash.

“MR. FIELDING!” Serena bellows, patience clearly run out. She pauses to take a steadying breath, notices Bernie in the room, then speaks loud and firm. “Any opportunity for us to listen to you does not begin until you CALM. DOWN.”

“No – no – no,” he mutters, feet shuffling back and forth, restless and agitated. “Ask her where she came from,” he says, pointing right at Bernie. “She’s not of this earth! You would see it if you just looked -”

“Mr. Fielding,” Serena sighs, cutting him off. She takes a step forward, but he won’t be calmed.

“Serena, no!” Bernie warns, throwing out an arm, but she’s not close enough to get between them as the motion spooks him and he snatches up several scalpels.

He stalks slowly around the trauma bay, eyes narrowed and blades pointed toward Bernie. “Which one are you, huh? Persephone? Artemis, perhaps?”

“Now, look,” she says, palms out, desperately trying to maintain her air of nonchalance and appear unimpressed by his accusations in front of her colleagues. “You don’t want to do this.”

“What are you doing here?” he sneers, pausing and thrusting his makeshift weapon in her direction again.

She doesn’t answer, just stands her ground, as her mouth forms a tight line and every muscle coils like a spring. Gaze buried beneath a dangerous scowl, Bernie’s eyes flick briefly over to Serena, still somewhat cornered, as he continues to question her.

“Why would you willingly - ohhh,” he drawls, a knowing smile growing on his lips as he switches targets, points the blades at Serena. “I get it… You came here for _her_.”

“ ** _You touch her…”_** she threatens as she feels a surge of power within and is unable to control her temper. Her words are a literal, thunderous rumble that shakes the room, sending the remaining spilled scalpels skittering across the floor in a frightening dance. “… **_and these mortal hands will send you straight to Hades_**.”

“There you are,” he whispers with a grin as the lights flicker and the machines hum.

Serena looks to her in shock. “Bernie?”

She wants to say something reassuring, moves her mouth but nothing comes out. Manages only a soft look that begs _please trust me_ before movement in her peripheral vision drags her attention away.

Fletch is trying to sneak up on Mr. Fielding as the man continues to rant, gaining ground on the two women.

“I told you I wasn’t crazy! She’s not who she says she is.”

She can see it happening but she can’t stop him. Her suggestions aren’t getting through to him and she has to watch as he makes the decision to lunge.

“Fletch, no!” she yells as he grabs the patient from behind.

They tussle and wrestle, toppling yet more equipment and tripping over the discarded cart as he tries desperately to control hands that still hold deadly instruments. But the patient is wild, slams him into a wall and only misses crashing into Serena because Bernie is quick to drag her to safety.

“Get out, go!” she orders, the words ground furiously through her teeth as she shoves Serena towards the entrance. She can’t let anything happen to Serena, ever, or she’ll never forgive herself.

But there’s no time to make sure she leaves as Fletch shouts, “Bernie, lookout!”

Spinning around, she ducks and weaves skillfully enough to dodge a wildly swinging arm, the sharp metal still in his hand glinting under the fluorescent lights as it flies past her face. Making a grab for his arm, she steps into him, checks his body with her hip and throws him off balance.

Fletch joins in, tripping and pulling him from behind, but he grabs a fist full of her scrubs with his free hand and all three bodies crash down in a twisted heap as both men’s skulls hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Mr. Fielding is out cold, she realizes, his body totally limp beneath her as she climbs off him and stands up, breathing hard.

A commotion at the door turns her head, and she finds Serena hurrying two members of uniformed security toward the incapacitated offender.

They share a brief smile when their eyes meet, Serena’s a little more shy than normal, but she supposes it’s to be expected. There’s a lot she probably needs to explain.

As the security officers drag Mr. Fielding away, Fletch groans. Well, no doubt he’ll have one almighty headache, she thinks, expecting to find him nursing an impressive lump. But as Serena steps beside her and they stoop to help him up, her breath leaves her chest in one almighty rush.

_No, no, no_.

“WE NEED SOME HELP IN HERE PLEASE!” Serena screams, as Bernie is momentarily frozen.

There is so much blood.

And a scalpel protruding from Nurse Fletcher’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we see where this is going yet? Lol :o)  
> Thank you, readers, for your lovely comments! You make it easy to want to keep going with this story.  
> Also, thank you to Refreshingly-Original for Tumblr post/fic prompt inspiration, and to Ames, who continues to be supportive and encouraging!


	6. Chapter 6

Communicating efficiently across an operating table has always been easy for them. Just a look or a pointed finger and they can dance their hands and instruments around each other in perfect sync.

“Can you just -”

“Yep -”

“And then -”

“Mm-hm, got it.”

It is natural. Effortless. So much so, Serena’s never really thought much about it before today.

But now she wants to tear the surgical mask from Bernie’s face. If only so she can _see_ whether Bernie’s mouth moves as she hears her words, for there are some she’d swear just appear inside her head. Like she can hear Bernie thinking.

A murmured voice that swims in and out, as feint as a whisper.

 _Panacea… Hygeia_ …

It’s there and then it’s not.

_Iaso… Aceso…_

A white noise of words she doesn’t recognize, and then one she does.

_Asclepius. Hear me._

But she can’t be _certain_ Bernie isn’t muttering beneath her face covering. It is her tendency to mumble, even during stressful surgeries, those dire emergencies that require a technique all the textbooks say should be nearly impossible.

“Work, dammit, work,” she’ll whisper, willing the final stitch to hold, for the shunt to win out. “Come on, come on…” Encouraging nobody but herself, Serena had thought, but this is different.

Like hearing a mantra in a foreign language, a prayer she doesn’t understand. It beats a rhythm in her mind. And as scary and confusing as today has already been, she wants to chase it, to get closer to it rather than run away. Wants to grab the thread and pull and pull to see if it leads back to Bernie, hopes it would lead back to Bernie.

“Alright?” Bernie asks, disrupting her thoughts, quieting the voice.

She blinks twice, breaking the stare she has had locked onto the blonde. Chides herself for losing concentration as she shakes the errant thoughts from her mind.

“Yes, just -” She sighs, exhausted. Her feet throb and her back aches, but mostly her heart hurts. It hurts for her friend on the table, and for their whole Holby family.

“I know,” Bernie says, a sympathetic smile crinkling her eyes.

It’s a look she’s seen often, one that says Bernie understands, that she hears everything, including the words Serena doesn’t say.

She trembles. It isn’t easy to hold Fletch’s heart in her hands, as her own pounds a desperate, panicked rhythm behind her ribcage, but Bernie’s voice soothes her as they both take a moment just to breathe.

“It’s okay. We can do this, Serena.”

And they _can_ , she nods. She knows it; they perform miracles together all the time. Though she doesn’t see the harm in muttering a mantra of her own just this once.

“Come on, Superdad. Come on.”

\---

Fletch lives.

And although Serena is at a loss to fully understand how they manage it, she doesn’t much care. The outcome is the only thing that matters. She _does_ know he wouldn’t have made it through the first hour of surgery if it weren’t for Bernie, and thanks the fates for bringing such a remarkable woman to her hospital.

With theater vacated and Fletch moved to Intensive Care, she watches Bernie tear off her cap, mask, and gloves with visible relief and quickly follows suit.

They should scrub out, but neither woman has the energy to move, sapped as they are by hours spent fending off the grim reaper. So when Bernie slides down the wall and collapses to the floor, Serena doesn’t think twice about joining her.

They sit for a long time, nestled side-by-side in comfortable silence. And though Serena enjoys being pressed up against Bernie’s warm body, her arse is numb and her mind is awhirl.

It is a ridiculous notion that she would ever believe the rantings of a such a deranged and dangerous man, but some of the things he said… is it possible?

No. She _knows_ Bernie, not intimately, but well enough. They are friends. She trusts Bernie more than perhaps anyone else in the world, knows if she were the one on the operating table there’s only one woman she’d want to save her. But… what happened in the trauma bay, the rumbling… did Bernie cause that?

No. It had to be a passing lorry or something, an earthquake perhaps. They aren’t unheard of in the south of England, she reasons, sneaking a sideways glance at her colleague and stifling a sigh that comes of not having any answers and feeling very ridiculous.

She could just ask, she muses, as she fidgets, rolling her necklace between a finger and thumb. Expects Bernie might laugh in her face though, might flash that annoyingly attractive smirk she uses when she’s amused specifically at Serena’s expense.

But Bernie breaks the silence first, startling her just a little.

“This is all my fault.”

“What?!” she snips with a sharp frown.

“He pushed for an assessment and I fobbed him off.”

Serena understands why Bernie might feel guilty, but she shakes her head. Both she and Fletch could have done more if they’d really wanted to, instead of watching and waiting to see how things developed.

“You couldn’t have known things would turn out like this,” she offers kindly. It’s not right that Bernie should be blaming herself, but clearly she’s already there, and Serena’s heart breaks along with Bernie’s voice.

“But our friend and colleague is fighting for his life.”

With a sharp inhale, she shifts her weight. Twists to look directly at the blonde, and finds Bernie’s eyes to be dull and hollow behind burgeoning tears. It’s as if all the sadness in the world is weighing her down, and Serena feels that familiar pang in her chest, stronger than ever.

She cares so much for Bernie that there’s no point avoiding it anymore. All she wants to do is fix this, to comfort her dearest friend, to wipe away the fear and fragility now visible in Bernie’s expression. And so she lets the words flow and holds her breath when she’s done.

“He would be the first person to say, that you are the most… _fantastic_ , fearless doctor in this entire hospital.”

She only breathes out when Bernie smiles. It’s barely there, but it lifts her whole face and Serena feels her own cheeks warm, feels herself beaming back in response as her chest falls in blessed relief.

They’ll be okay, she decides, as they hold each other’s gaze. And despite today’s events, despite any regrets she herself might harbor over Fletch and Mr. Fielding, her pulse picks up knowing she’s here now with Bernie. Strong, brave, protective Bernie, the woman she can’t imagine life without, the woman now staring at her lips like Serena is an oasis in the desert.

 _God, just kiss me,_ she thinks, suddenly hot and wanting, and Bernie lurches forward, capturing her mouth so swiftly Serena’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

She doesn’t respond immediately, but she doesn’t pull away either. Just lets Bernie tease her mouth with soft, gentle lips, revels in the feeling, no, the absolute knowledge that this is right.

When she starts to kiss Bernie back, the woman eagerly cups her face and the touch seems to fill the room with a million suns. It is so strong she can _feel_ the light through her closed lids, a bright and wondrous glow that surrounds her, like a heavenly cocoon. She’s never felt so warm, so loved, so safe.

When she lets out a tiny moan, it spurs Bernie on, and the machines around them start to hum and crackle with energy and she breaks away with a gasp. Everything stops as her eyes spring open, but she remembers what happened earlier in the trauma bay. Knows now, as ridiculous as it might have seemed at the time, it _has_ to be Bernie.

Bernie, who is staring at her now with a terrified expression on her face and a storm in her eyes, those once dull irises swirling like molten gold.

She _knows_ these bright eyes, has caught them numerous times before, she realizes, despite convincing herself otherwise. Feels instantly fond of them in an odd way, like they belong to her, and she leans back in as if magnetically pulled towards Bernie’s mouth.

“Who are you really?” she whispers, caressing Bernie’s face, her eyes chasing the glow as it quickly flees from Bernie’s panicked gaze.

“Serena – I – I -”

“It’s okay,” she replies, perfectly willing to wait for answers, and shows pity on the trembling blonde by stifling any more stammering with eager kisses.

When their tongues finally meet, it’s Bernie who moans, and Serena grasps desperately at her arms trying to pull the woman closer. She’s contemplating straddling Bernie’s long legs in an effort to remove any remaining distance between them when the theater doors burst open.

They break apart so quickly Serena thinks she sprains something, but the lack of circulation from the cold hard floor means she can’t feel it beyond the sharp pins and needles that flow down her stiff legs and into her feet.

“Um – ahem – Sorry, we were just -” she mutters, wide-eyed as a surgical team from Keller bustles in around a porter pushing a gurney.

Beating a hasty retreat while trying to look calm and collected, she straightens her scrub top and gestures to the door behind her. “We’ll, um, we’ll get out of your way,” she says, not expecting the scrub room door to be swinging closed at that exact moment and Bernie, in actual fact, already long gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Secreted away in the darkest corner of the hospital roof, she leans against the railing and growls in frustration. Curses her luck as she paces and scowls toward the heavens. Watches as storm clouds gather above her, grey and ominous.

Two descendants! Not one, but _two_ , in this very hospital!

“Now what do I do?”

The response she gets is a blast of wind so strong it pushes her back towards the door.

“No!” she yells, almost stamps her feet.

She was talked into this to begin with, against her better judgment, and now she needs some time to think. Despite _feeling_ Serena’s own heartache within her chest, she will not go back inside until Serena leaves. She _will not_ make this worse, and so she ignores several more gusts and Aphrodite’s instruction to head straight back down and lay claim to the woman she loves.

As if it could ever be that easy.

Serena doesn’t realize, of course. Doesn’t understand their connection, doesn’t _know_ what she is, what _either_ of them are, and so Bernie can only imagine how confused Serena must be, about the kissing, about what they mean to each other, and about Bernie herself.

Not Bernie, _Athena_ , she mutters, though the harder she falls the more blurred that line becomes.

Could she stay, now that her cover is blown, knowing Serena is somehow capable of penetrating her mask? She’s not sure; though it seems inevitable there would be _something_ special about any creature she could potentially call her soulmate.

Could she stay and inhabit this mortal body for as long as Serena might want her? Perhaps.

Would she abandon the heavens forever for this woman? Absolutely.

But as she kicks at the gravel beneath her feet and paces across the roof, she knows she shouldn’t be here at all.

She was weak and selfish. She let her desires win out over logic. And despite the positives that have resulted from her partnership with Serena, there is no ignoring the fact that, were it not for her presence, Serena wouldn’t have had so many battles to fight, and her – _their_ \- dear friend would not be close to death.

She should have left well before now, she realizes, as she leans glumly on the railing. Not today, but months ago. Should have spared these blessed mortals her interference. Such good people don’t deserve her bad fortune, especially Serena.

She could go home. If she’s honest, she misses the freedom and simplicity of her tunic. Even misses the heft of her battle-scarred golden armor, despite not having worn it for centuries, but she has grown as equally comfortable in human clothes. Relishes certain outfits, in fact, and the way Serena’s eyes darken when she wears something other than scrubs.

She misses the determined march into war, too. The dirt, the noise, the smells... But some days it feels very similar on the ward, like a hard fight, and she relishes the challenge with Serena by her side.

If only Serena had continued to fight with _her_ , she might have already made the decision to leave. Might have conceded defeat and returned to where she belonged. She wouldn’t have crossed paths with Mr. Fielding, wouldn’t have put everyone she cares about at risk. If only Aphrodite hadn’t interfered, made it seem like Serena was falling in love with her, too, she might have had more willpower.

Another powerful gust from behind pushes her into the low wall atop the building, forces her gaze downward, to where Serena trudges across the carpark in darkness, her shoulders hunched and head hung low.

Athena curses herself for the pain she has caused.

“You shouldn’t have made her love me,” she whispers, her voice carried away on the wind. Watches as Serena huddles low beside her car, sheltering herself from the incoming storm, before opening the door and climbing in.

A rumble overhead signals the coming of the rain.

 _“I did no such thing!”_ Aphrodite thunders.

“But you _knew!_ ” she argues as tears begin to fall, as she watches Serena pull away. “You knew what was in my heart before I came here.”

_“And I promise you, sister, if she loves you… it is pure and true and no doing of mine.”_

And yet - oh god - she ran away.

As Serena’s car roars off into the distance, she grips the railing so hard she thinks she might tear it from its bolts. What on earth has she done?

Lightning strikes close by and she stills. Closes her eyes and hangs her head.

“You stupid, stupid coward.”

She could leave this instant if she wished. Return to Mount Olympus through the energy that surges to earth from the heavens, disappear in a flash. Use that singular moment when night turns to day to vanish herself from Serena’s life. But, she fears, not so easily from her heart.

No. She is a warrior, and she will fight.

For Serena.

\---

With a single weekend apart coming to an end, she’s had two days to think and has genuinely done little else. Has resolved herself to not running from her feelings or from Serena ever again, thanks to some additional sisterly advice, and a lot of bolstered courage. But the reality, she quickly discovers, is more difficult than she’d anticipated.

“Morning, Lou. You – um – you haven’t seen Ms. Campbell have you?”

Impatiently, the nurse roughly tugs a sheet as she makes up an empty bed.

“She’s covering electives on Keller _apparently_ ,” Lou says, with more attitude than Bernie has come to expect from the woman, as if Lou blames _her_ for the added stress.

Bernie nods sharply to herself, her eyes closed beneath a new wave of guilt. _Right_ , she sighs. They _are_ already a man down - which _is_ her fault, no matter what Serena might believe - so she can forgive Lou her tone, even if the woman doesn’t know how right she is.

“Thank you,” she mutters before slinking dejectedly away to her office.

Electives. Not visiting Fletch in ICU or popped downstairs for coffee, no. A full day, no doubt, of back-to-back surgeries, of appendectomies and laparoscopies and whatever else Serena can find to avoid being here, to avoid seeing her at all.

She fights down the lump in her throat, closes the door and buries herself in work. The pain in her chest stays for days, but, she reasons, it’s no less than she deserves.


	8. Chapter 8

She enters the office carrying two coffees, and is not surprised when Serena barely looks up, only mumbles a half-hearted thank you as she takes her cup.

Despite her efforts, Serena hasn’t been able to look at her for days. Not since returning from her stint on Keller, preferring to work in silence when they’re stuck together, and now, despite assuming it was because Serena had felt hurt and abandoned by her running away, Bernie knows there’s another reason.

“Crazy Campbell, pudding and pie,” a male voice had sung from behind her, the name making her head snap around as she’d stood in line at Pulses.

She’d watched in horror as another man finished the cruel nursery rhyme with apparent glee.

“Kissed a girl and made her cry!”

Both men wore maroon shirts. One, she suspects, might have been the porter with the Keller team in theater that day, but she’d left so quickly she can’t be sure. They‘d bumped shoulders as they’d left the hospital, laughed like they were proud of themselves.

It had made her blood boil.

And it still simmers even now, as she sits at her desk, as she recognizes Serena’s odd behavior for what it truly is; Serena _knows_ she is the subject of gossip and is patently mortified.

 _Oh god._ Serena has no doubt heard it in the hospital, probably stumbled upon a bunch of tittering porters as she walked a corridor or turned a corner. Was probably, rightfully, offended by such childish behavior, has likely been cursing Bernie’s actions ever since.

Or worse, she’s heard it from Jason, because if the porters know, everybody knows. Serena has likely been asked about it very directly, in Jason’s usual style, about why people would say his Auntie Serena has kissed a girl. Was likely grilled about why they weren’t spending time with one another anymore and - _oh god –_ it’s potentially _so_ much worse that she has to fight the urge to wish for a split in the earth beneath her feet, to welcome being plunged into the underworld.

\---

She keeps out of the way, despite any earlier resolve. Even as Elinor insinuates herself onto the ward, carrying a video camera and promising not to get under everyone’s feet. Despite wanting to challenge Serena’s assurance that her daughter won’t be any trouble on their ward, because she’s heard enough about the girl to safely assume the chances of that are poor and that Serena is fooling no one but herself.

It keeps Serena busy at least, overseeing Elinor’s attempted exposé on the NHS, minimizing her efforts to stir up the emotions of staff and patients alike. It’s almost a relief, to have Serena’s mind occupied with something other than what happened between them, to find something that softens the overly professional atmosphere Serena has forced between them, if only a little.

She doesn’t want to get in between two fiery Campbells, knows the last delicate vestiges of her relationship with Serena wouldn’t survive should anything go wrong, but she also can’t stop herself from wanting to help and so she gives Elinor a few subconscious pointers. Manages, she hopes, to manipulate the angle, focus Elinor’s eye on content that is interesting and educational, more about cutting edge trauma medicine, and less about defaming the very hospital they all love.

When Elinor finally announces it’s her last day filming, that she has more material than she anticipated and clearly she’s a God-given natural at this gritty documentary business thank you very much, Bernie thinks she can literally see some of the stress lines evaporate from Serena’s face.

She pretends not to notice the sigh of relief Serena lets out when Elinor excitedly bounds off to lunch with Jason. Doesn’t follow as Serena slinks off to their office, just smiles to herself that her good intentions have not forsaken her for once, that she _is_ still capable of some good, and lets that relief loosen her own tense muscles.

They’ve gotten through it without any drama, without anyone threatening a lawsuit more importantly, and now all they need to do is finish out the day.

\---

She sits on the bench outside during her final break. Enjoys the warmth on her face from a rare spot of sunshine, smiles easily even as a light breeze whips her fringe about her eyes.

Having completed all her usual checks on Fletch (despite knowing Serena’s done them, too, each of them visiting ICU alone every day for reasons she doesn’t want to dwell on), she feels buoyed.

His recovery is undoubtedly ahead of schedule and she whispers her thanks to the goddesses of medicine, healing, and recuperation to whom she had prayed during his surgery.

Her smile falls away in a flash as Serena’s cut-glass tone pierces her mind, sharp and angry, like a trident to the back of the head. It brings her break to an abrupt end, chases the sunshine away as she rises from the bench and hurries back inside.

_“God give me strength!”_

\---

The office door is open and the voices within are raised, so entering is not necessary to hear what’s being said. Instead, she chooses to stand just out of sight, buckling to curiosity, wanting to know what kind of war she’s walking into, despite the multitude of eyes that stare interestedly in the same direction.

“I would have thought you’d mention that you’re a lesbian all of a sudden!”

“She’s _not_ a lesbian,” Jason insists firmly, “it’s more complicated than that.”

 _Oh god._ Not only are they talking - _arguing_ \- about what happened between them, it would also be hard not to infer from Jason’s words that Serena has done plenty of additional talking about something that goes far deeper than simple hospital gossip.

“So, what is it then?” Elinor scoffs, her usual attitude back in full force, “besides some bizarre, _Sapphic_ , midlife crisis?”

Bernie can picture Serena’s eye roll. Feels the hurtful jab hit Serena’s chest as if it were her own. Moves so she can see inside and fights the urge to intervene, to try and calm things before they escalate.

“Ellie, please -”

“No!” the girl screeches. “You don’t tell me _anything_ that’s going on. I’ve just found out _he’s_ moved in and now this!”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?” Elinor barks. “I’m always the last to find out what’s going on in your life -”

Serena sighs hard as she speaks. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

“- So, you know what? Forget it.”

The office door slams hard against the wall inside, rattling the windows and blinds as Elinor rushes out, followed quickly by Serena and Jason.

“Ellie! Elinor! Elinor Elizabeth Campbell don’t you dare walk away from me -” But Elinor jogs away without turning back, puts more distance between them than Serena clearly has the energy for and she eases up as the exit door closes to separate them.

“Oh great,” she mutters as Jason catches up.

“I’m sorry, Auntie Serena. I didn’t mean to upset everyone.”

She catches Bernie’s eye for a second and her breath seems to hitch. Turning quickly away, she rubs her nephew’s arm with care and ushers him back into the office. “Don’t worry, Jason. It’s not your fault.”

No, Bernie thinks, as she, too, heads for the exit. The fault is hers.


	9. Chapter 9

From inside the office, she hears a commotion out by the nurse’s station.

It is a familiar sound, one she’s heard a thousand times. It is the sudden and urgent bustling of her staff as they deal with an incoming medical emergency. And even through the din of crashing doors and yelled instructions, she has no trouble singling out one unmistakable voice.

Bernie.

It  _ is _ Bernie, but there’s something different, something wrong, and she yanks open the door and hastens her rush onto the ward.

She can  _ feel  _ Bernie’s voice, like ice between her ears. Like brittle shards that vibrate inside her skull and not the soft, swirling warmth that she’s used to. Like Bernie herself is trembling with fear as she barks orders to the staff and Serena can feel it, can sense everything about her.

“Bernie?” she murmurs, her brow drawn and worried.

As she approaches the melee, she’d swear the pounding inside her chest is not her own, but then she properly registers the scene, and the patient, and a gut-wrenching terror overtakes all of her senses.

* * *

 

 

“I need a gurney!” Bernie yells as she shoves her way through the double doors carrying the limp body of a young woman.

There’s a blood trail behind her that stretches all the way to the carpark. And she can feel it getting steadily worse, deep red running down her arm and dripping from her elbow despite the improvised tourniquet she’d applied around the girl’s thigh.

“NOW, please!” she snaps as she passes the nurse’s station, because she might have crashed back onto the ward looking like something out of a horror movie - missing half her tattered scrub bottoms and both women covered in blood - but her rapidly declining patient can’t afford the time for startled and gawping nurses.

Once a makeshift bed is finally wheeled in front of her, she lays the girl down gently and sighs with relief. Finds herself crowded by her team and fending off a barrage of unnecessary questions.

“Oh my god, what happened?!”

“Are you okay, Ms. Wolfe?”

“Is that Serena’s -?”

She quiets them with a raised hand, relays relevant details and their assignments with as much efficiency as she can muster.

“The patient was hit by a car. She has an injury to her right thigh that has nicked the femoral artery. She needs to go straight to theater before she bleeds out. Lou, page Hanssen and tell him we need him down here and scrubbed in for surgery. Morven, I need as many units of O-neg as you can lay your hands on.”

“What about Ms. Campbell?” somebody asks and she gulps, because knowing the girl will need surgery is one thing, but completing the delicate vascular repair herself is going to be something else entirely. And she can feel Serena approaching. Knows she isn’t going to get the girl  _ into _ theatre, and keep Serena  _ out _ of it, without a massive fight.

“Bernie?”

She can see the exact moment Serena’s eyes land on the gurney, watches as the color entirely drains from her face. Knows these next few hours are going to be the most excruciating of her life.

“Elinor...”

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry, Ms. Campbell, but Ms. Wolfe is right. You cannot perform surgery on your own daughter and I must insist you wait outside.”

“But, wait… Bernie… Bernie!” Serena cries as the scrub room door swings closed behind Mr. Hanssen and he approaches her at the operating table.

But Serena doesn’t leave, she just relocates herself to the observation window and Bernie can feel dark eyes burning into her back as she picks up a scalpel.

She shakes her head and screws her eyes closed, tries to dislodge Serena’s voice as it runs rampant through her mind - she wants to think clearly,  _ needs _ to think clearly - but it’s no use.

_ ‘Please don’t shut me out - that’s my baby - don’t you dare let my baby die! Bernie - Bernie - BERNIE!’ _

“Are we ready to proceed, Ms. Wolfe?” Henrik asks, forcing her to open her eyes.

“Just -” she breathes, sucking in a big gulp of air and gesturing with gloved hands, “I just need a second.”

She closes her eyes again and tries to settle the energy that rattles within her chest. It feels like Serena’s soul is trapped behind her rib cage, fighting to get out. She can’t ignore it, can’t stop her hands from shaking as the vibrations flow up her arms.

“What are you waiting for?” Serena yells, banging her fist on the window as her thoughts continue to scream inside Bernie’s head. 

_ ‘God, why is it taking you so long? Get on with it! Patch the hole - Stitch the tear - Start the transfusion - Now, now, NOW!’ _

“Serena!” Bernie snaps, turning towards the window. “Please stop. I need to concentrate.” And concentrate she does, as Serena opens her mouth again to speak, sending a message with as much effort as she can muster, golden eyes boring through glass.

_ ‘You have to STOP. You have to TRUST me now. Can you do that?’ _

Whatever Serena was going to say is halted in its tracks, the woman sucking in a sharp breath instead as her eyes go wide - eyes that now glow a deep blue-grey like molten steel. She doesn’t bang or shout, just offers Bernie a light nod and swallows hard.

_ ‘Good,’  _ she thinks, _ ‘Don’t fight me, work WITH me. I can HEAR you.’ _

“Okay,” Serena nods again, breathing out a sigh and pressing her palm to the glass.

“Okay,” Bernie smiles briefly as the tremors within start to subside.

Turning back to Hanssen, she feels her connection to Serena like a soft warmth surrounding her organs and she welcomes it, will hold on to it for as long as it takes to protect the heart of the woman she loves.

“Let’s proceed,” she says, wasting no more time as she moves the scalpel, her hand as steady as if Serena were beside her, holding it and whispering encouragements in her ear.

* * *

 

 

Once Bernie sees Elinor settled into a recovery suite it isn’t hard to track down Serena. There’s an aura of sadness and anger that emanates from one of the on-call rooms and Bernie braces herself for an emotional onslaught as she enters.

“She’s going to be fine,” she rushes as soon as Serena claps panicked eyes on her. “You’re to be paged as soon as she wakes up.”

“What on earth happened, Bernie?! Did you get into an argument?”

“No!” she exclaims, determined to reassure Serena that nothing untoward happened.

“So  _ WHY _ ,” Serena growls, hands firmly on her hips, “is my  _ daughter _ lying in a hospital bed?”

Bernie steps forward timidly and holds out her hands.

“It was an accident, Serena. I didn’t go out there to follow her, I -” There isn’t a good way to say she needed a quiet space to talk to a sister only  _ she _ can see and hear, so she skips right to the end. “I was heading back from the peace garden and she was pacing back and forth talking on the phone. She just stepped out in front of the car…” 

“Okay, okay,” Serena dismisses, her face screwed up in agony at hearing how her daughter came to be harmed. “I’m very grateful you got to her when you did,” she says, still standoffish. “But I’m still very confused about a lot of things -”

“I can explain,” she offers, hesitant to make things any worse, “but it’s going to make me sound crazy.”

“It can’t be crazier than - than…” Serena paces across the small room, gesturing frantically as she lists off everything that Bernie concedes must seem very bizarre. “The trauma unit. What the hell happened in the trauma unit, Bernie? I’ve seen lights in your eyes, you’re always there when I turn around, and now I can  _ hear _ you… IN MY HEAD!”

“I know,” she says, stepping forward again as Serena pauses only to pin her with eyes wide with fear and confusion. “I know it seems strange, and I know you’re scared, but you have no reason to be afraid of me, of this.” She takes hold of Serena’s hand, warm energy instantly thrumming between them as their connection continues to grow.

It surges the power in the room, brightening the lights for a moment and Serena steps back with a gasp. Bernie opens her mouth to speak, to reassure Serena, to speak her truth and offer her name, but she’s interrupted by a hard knock at the door and they turn to find a furious Edward Campbell standing in the doorway.


End file.
